


Amber Eye

by penintime



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: Other, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penintime/pseuds/penintime





	Amber Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pene/gifts).



The great headland of northern Oranéa rises abruptly from the sea; a guardpost for the rest of the island against any bad weather and drift ice that passes through the Teeth islands without being chewed up. As the ice floes and seasonal storms attempt their southward journeys from the North Reach they often crash against that wall of stone and lichen, spending themselves there; wrecking the homes of terns and gulls only. From those northern cliffs the land slopes gently toward the central plateau where farms and pastures are sparsely strewn across a forested land. Most of the towns and villages of Oranéa dot the southeast coast, strung like pearls along each side of the Oranéa bay. 

Right on the lip of the bay, in its marshy estuary, sheltered behind an archipelago of flat, rocky isles, sits the little town of Dohmry with its five pear orchards. A handful of squat houses crowd around the shallow little harbor with its black, stale water. There is a merchants house and a small market square and an alehouse with a guest room upstairs, where the windows open onto the back alley with its row of outhouses rather than the water, so as to spare the boarder the smell of rotting seaweed. 

Tenar had slept in that room, now she was glad to leave it and go outside in the wind that whipped her skirts around and made the air clean. She bought breakfast from a trader on the harborside. The old woman guarded her stock by sitting on it; using the big wicker basket as a stool. Her joints creaked as she reached out for the small angled copper piece that Tenar offered out to her. The seller slipped it into a tiny pouch and deftly made it disappear somewhere about her person. Then, she scooted down onto the ground, flipped the basket lid open and reached in, Tenar thinking for sure she would be swallowed up. But she emerged, triumphant, arms loaded with bounty. She helped Tenar pack it all into her satchel, there were parcels and a ceramic bottle, corked and waxed and filled with last years’ cider. Sandwiches with smoked mackerel, and sausage and cress, a winter apple, a hard-boiled egg and buttered biscuits with jam. The woman waved after her cheerfully, pleased with Tenar's custom. Likewise pleased with the prospect of partaking of the cider and sandwiches, Tenar continued down towards some benches that were facing the water. 

A group of men were gathered there, around a low table, throwing dice and laughing. As Tenar approached, the merriment subsided and they peered at her from under their caps, hands disappearing into pockets. She queried about a ferry north through the arcipelago, towards the Teeth. There were several going that way, and she bought passage from one of them, a tiny man who shook her hand vigorously and showed her towards the dock, past several bobbing boats to a small flat bottomed one that looked more like a band of planks having a laugh together than a seaworthy vessel. She climbed on board, decided not to worry about the sponginess of the wood beneath her feet, and plonked herself down next to some crates. The morning mist had not yet cleared; she was the only passenger. Hopping onto a little platform in the aft, the ferryman rang a little bell, picked up a large pole and started punting. The boat slowly made its way out of the harbor.  
By midmorning she found herself on a small rocky island watching the boat be pushed away. It would continue deeper into the clutter of little islands surrounding Oranéa; some of which inhabited, most covered with loud birds and whitened bones, scented grasses and tiny thickets of bent, ancient pines, to pick up and drop off passengers and supplies here and there; before collecting her on its return trip in the late afternoon.  


A small path lead away from the water and rocks, winding towards the center of the island between high, rounded tufts of grass, and she set upon it, the leather soles of her shoes slipping on the smooth round pebbles that covered the track. The rustle of wind in the grass and water lapping against the rocks wove together a silence that was a sweet solace after a night above the inn. She followed the path for a while, stooping now and then to examine a mineral here, a plant there. She spotted gleaming sea shells, which she left alone, and a treasure; a thumbnail-sized orb of the darkest red amber she’d seen. It seemed to burn from within. She slipped it into her pocket. The wind died down, but a quiet rain started to fall; so she sat under a tree that was laced in the first flush of green, and ate one of the sandwiches in three bites.  
She peeled the egg and got the cider out. The rain was so fine it turned to mist and blew onto her face. She pulled her shawl closer around her head. When she looked down, she saw a little round creature between her feet. A hedgehog peered up at her, hiding from the rain in the folds of her skirt. Its black nose was pointed and trembling, it greedily eyed the egg. ”Hello little one. Yes, yes, stay, travellers must stay together, we must keep each other warm. I will share my lunch with you.” She broke off a piece of the egg and gently placed it in front of the animal. ”Oh, you like eggs, don't you! Though I suppose you'd rather eat it raw.” The hedgehog ate, very noisily. ”Little Kotti”. A flower of a memory sprang up then and unfolded itself, petal by petal.

Early spring. 

Tehanu, my daughter, you were laughing, running, arms outstreched.

A day of unexpected sunshine, an afternoon of airing linen and letting the wind blow right through the house, chasing winter out. 

You found a little kotti. It had woken up early. You held it in your hands and it looked at us bewildered and I told you to release it. It rolled its tongue out and it was the pinkest thing, like velvet.  


Tenar remained, still and silent while the little creature finished its meal. Then she bent down towards it and whispered, "Shoo little Kotti". It peered up at her and sniffed, then scurried away. She shook the crumbs out of her skirt and folded up the cloth and put it in her satchel. Then she took out the amber piece. She held it, her arm outstretched, trying to get sunlight to catch it, but the sky was cloudy now; and the piece lay dark and mute and surprisingly cold in the palm of her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes. She closed her fingers around the cold, smooth shape and rose, walked on.  
On clear days, the blue hills of eastern Oranéa were visible from Re Albi. Often she would gaze towards its greenish blue shape against the black-blue of the sea. She squinted now and turned east, hoping for a glimpse of her home, of Gont. But the rain worked against her; the island and its massive peak was merely a brown smudge on the horizon.

Here, cold waters swept down in autumn and in spring, and broken off icebergs frequently crashed into the craggy northern cliffs. Oranéa endured the last efforts of the rages of the wild north. Here, rocky outcroppings of mountains were the size of the mountains themselves on the southern populous islands, and in contrast to the gentle greens and browns of her home, Oranéa and its archipelago were painted from a palette of stark blacks, greys, blues and oranges. Ragged and brutal, these lands seemed to have been borne from some unimaginable violence and then wittled down, sun and sky and sea endlessly gnawing away at them. She looked around, thinking that before the bend of time, Oranéa itself would be eaten away by the elements until all that remained of it was but a smooth pebble, like the orb of amber she had found. Like the eye of a dragon.


End file.
